


When a Fire Starts to Burn

by faikitty



Category: Captain Harlock
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikitty/pseuds/faikitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The choice between remaining at a party or being alone with the captain is an easy one to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When a Fire Starts to Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Movie-verse. Japanese names.
> 
> No clue when this takes place. Sometime following the end of the movie, but that's all I know. It's PWP, don't think too much about it, just take the sex.
> 
> This only exists because my friend and I find movie!Harlock hilariously mysterious and broody. So: "I just want Yama to take Harlock by the hair and kiss the lame mysteriousness out of him." "He could also fuck it out of him. I vote for that option." Realistically, Harlock should probably top, but this is more fun.

By the time Yama loses track of how many drinks he’s had, he’s also forgotten why they’re throwing a party in the first place.

It doesn’t take a long time for it to happen. Yama has a low alcohol tolerance in the first place, and Yattaran shoves drink after drink in his hand, saying something about making him into “a real man tonight.” A real man, though, can drink more than Yama can. Eventually he winds up using Kei as a distraction. All it takes is him telling Yattaran that the attractive blonde woman is asking for him, and he’s gone in a flash (Yama makes a mental note to apologize to her later—then scratches it out in favor of feigning innocence).

Harlock makes an appearance for a few minutes, but he doesn’t stay long. He never does. Crowds make him uncomfortable, Yama has figured out, even when the crowd in question is his crew—perhaps more so then.

Yama can’t say why he follows him tonight of all nights. Maybe he’s sick of being surrounded by rambunctious pirates himself. Maybe he’s tired of seeing Harlock’s gracious half-smile as he excuses himself and the lonely form of his back disappearing down the hallway back to darkness. Maybe he just has a feeling something will happen.

He doesn’t really think he _needs_ a reason. Harlock has passed his entire legacy onto Yama, so he’s surely welcome to share a drink with him in private, right?

* * *

 

When he enters the room, Miime is the one who greets him, appearing out of seemingly nowhere to offer a glass of wine that he gladly takes. He’s grown good at not staring at her by now, but with how much he’s already had to drink, he can’t stop his gaze from drifting from those distinct eyes of hers to her breasts before snapping over to Harlock, which isn’t really any better at all. The captain is regarding him with an expression he can’t quite name, eye as steady as the glass in his hands, but there’s something strange to it, a sort of… indecision? He’d rather not think too much on it, so he pulls his gaze away from Harlock’s to look at Miime again. “Thanks.”

The girl laughs softly, light as twinkly bells. “I was leaving when you arrived,” she says with a knowing smile. “Keep him company for me.” Then she’s gone as suddenly as she arrived.

It’s always been a bit uncanny how she’s able to glide in and out of rooms so silently, but Yama doesn’t really have a chance to think about it because his eye returns to Harlock, who’s still regarding him with the odd expression. There are no seats besides Harlock’s and the one at the opposite end of the table that is usually occupied by Miime. Yama doesn’t want to stand in the doorway forever or sit so far away from the other man, so he stands by Harlock instead and leans carefully against the table.

“I thought I could keep you company,” Yama offers, unwittingly mirroring Miime’s words from a minute ago. He takes a quick—but deep—gulp of his wine, and he sees Harlock’s lips twitch up ever so slightly.

“I appreciate it.” Harlock sounds genuine, and Yama can’t find anything to say to that so he just nods and takes another drink. Harlock does the same, his sip slower and more graceful than the younger man’s. Yama watches the rim touch his lips, a drop of wine falling down Harlock’s chin as he pulls the glass away, and he can’t help but wonder if the captain’s lips are as soft as they look and if Harlock would taste like wine if he kissed him.

That thought makes Yama look sharply away and down the remainder of his drink. He sets the empty glass on the table and feels Harlock stand next to him and set a hand on his shoulder. “It was nice of you to offer to join me,” Harlock says quietly, “but I think I’m going to retire for the night.”

Yama isn’t sure why, but his heart sinks with disappointment at that. He turns when Harlock’s hand falls from his shoulder, and he wants to say _something_ but nothing comes out. He’s not yet quite drunk enough to make such a mistake. But as Harlock starts to walk away, Yama can’t bring himself to let him go spend another night alone while everyone else is out having fun, nor does he really want to be alone himself.

Oh, what the hell.

“Wait,” he calls, and Harlock turns back. Yama crosses the distance between them, sets his hand against Harlock’s chest, and looks up at him to see that indecisive expression back on his face. Without another thought, Yama makes the decision himself.

He kisses him.

Yama waits for what he _knows_ must be coming, for Harlock to reject him, even change his mind about giving Yama his title and power, but it doesn’t come at all. Harlock isn’t resisting; he’s kissing back, his body taut beneath Yama’s fingers but his mouth soft and inviting. Yama almost stops with the surprise of acceptance, but he doesn’t. He lets Harlock lean into the kiss and deepen it himself, but even as the older man’s tongue slips past his lips, there’s a distance between them. Yama’s fingertips may be resting against his chest, but Harlock seems to be taking every precaution against anything but their lips touching. Undeterred, Yama traces light fingers along the folds of Harlock’s shirt, up over the collar and to his jaw to cup his cheek in his palm. His other hand balls in the neck of Harlock’s cloak, using it as leverage to lift himself up. He wants _more_ , and he shifts to press more of his body against the older man’s. This isn’t enough; there’s a sort of hunger in him that he doesn’t quite recognize, certainly not one that should be elicited by _Harlock_ , but it _is_. Harlock’s own hand lifts hesitantly to wrap around the younger man’s waist, to pull him in closer despite whatever concerns he may have. The feeling of Harlock’s hand on him, even through a layer of clothing, brings a soft sound of wanting from Yama, but when he tries to kiss against the crook of Harlock’s neck, the captain’s touch vanishes abruptly.

Yama’s hands drop from his cheek and cloak alike. He lets Harlock pull away from him and searches his face for any sign of emotion, positive or negative, but his bangs hide one eye and his eyepatch hides the other and his mouth gives nothing away. Yama is worried for a moment that Harlock has realized what’s happening, that he’s kissing a boy who’s technically barely a fifth of his age—kissing him so hard that Yama’s lips still burn with the ghost of it and his body aches for more. But then Harlock’s hair bangs show his eye, and there’s an odd glint to it that makes Yama wonder if the older man wants this as much as he does.

“Yama,” Harlock murmurs, voice low and warning as his eye holds the other man’s steady. “Are you sure about this?”

Yama wracks his mind for a decent response but finds none, and any real thoughts he has are knocked back by that strange light in Harlock’s dark eye, so he only nods and stands on his toes to kiss the other man again. Harlock’s fingers wrap around his wrist, and for a second Yama thinks he’s going to knock him away. But no, he pulls Yama down the hall with a quiet “come then.”

* * *

 

Yama has never been in Harlock’s room before. It’s surprisingly barren, similar to his own with more weapons and clothes. He stands in the corner as Harlock closes and locks the door, feeling rather like an uninvited guest. His throat itches for another drink; the haze of alcohol is already starting to dissipate, and it’s taking his courage with it.

“I’d have expected your room to be more… decorative,” Yama comments, because it’s _something_ to do besides standing around looking lost. When he glances toward the other man, Harlock is undoing the clasp of his cape and regarding him with an amused expression.

“I’m sorry to disappoint,” Harlock replies, a light note of teasing in his ever serious tone. As he drops his cloak to the floor, Yama realizes for the first time just how _tight_ the captain’s clothes are, formfitting in a manner that’s normally reserved for women’s outfits.

He can’t be sure if Harlock had intended for it to be this way, but it’s practically a show to watch him take off his clothes and weapons with such precise movements. Yama wasn’t aware before of how intricate the captain’s outfit is—and needlessly so. Zippers run through leather, weapons cover zippers, and those boots of his go all the way up over his knees. Yama can’t quite figure out the point of it all, but he’s hardly complaining.

Harlock casts him a small smirk as he tugs off his gloves. “Are you only going to watch?” he asks, and when Yama stammers an unintelligible reply, his smirk widens. He crooks a finger, and Yama is powerless to disobey the command in the motion. Yama kneels in front of him, and the scene would look to an outside observer like one from a book, with a knight kneeling before his king and god. But in none of the books does the knight proceed to kiss the king’s lips, to nip at is neck, to slip the cool leather from his skin. Harlock pulls Yama’s shirt over his head, and maybe he _meant_ to do more, but Yama’s fingers brush against his skin in a way that makes his hand pause on the younger man’s head and his fingers twine through his hair instead.

Yama’s fingers slide along the scars that crisscross Harlock’s bared skin. Some of them are swollen and bright and _new_ , but others are flattened and white. Those have long lost their sensitivity, but the skin around them has not, and Harlock’s muscles jump beneath his lips at the touch. Yama searches for the ones that make him react the most, finding a pair on his hips that make Harlock shiver and the hand in his hair tighten in wordless encouragement. He follows them lower, slips Harlock’s pants off, and traces feather-light lips over scars that mark his upper thighs. Yama’s eye is glued shut; there’s a fear in him that he can’t quite kick that tells him if he opens it, this will all be gone. He doesn’t really _need_ his vision anyway, not when it’s easy to follow the lines of his thighs up or his hips down. Harlock tugs at his hair as if to guide him, and Yama can feel him jerk as he takes the man in his mouth.

It’s a good feeling, the knowledge that he’s useful for something like this. He licks from base to tip, wraps his lips around Harlock’s cock again to suck with hollowed cheeks. His lips give a slick friction that makes Harlock’s cock twitch in the heat of Yama’s mouth each time he pauses. It’s hot against Yama’s tongue too, heavy when he lets his mouth open to take a quick breath as if he had been drowning, and he sort of feels like he is with Harlock’s grip in his hair tightening until it feels like needles in his head. Still, the suffocation is the _good_ kind, his mouth full to the point that he doesn’t think he can take any more. But he _does_ , nearly choking on it but it’s worth it when Harlock gives a slight gasp and ruts forward, and if Yama weren’t taking it all before he would be after that.

Yama isn’t about to ask when the captain last had sex, but he can tell it’s been awhile from his reactions, the way he’s pushing forward with his hips and pulling with his hand and Yama does his best to please, to swallow him all again and again without more than a high whine through his nose. He can hear the older man’s breathing too, coming faster with each suck. Then his breath catches on a groan that’s barely audible, and _that_ makes Yama’s face flush more than the wine ever could. His movements pause, and Harlock pulls him away and up until they’re both standing, caught in an almost dance between moving toward the bed and pushing hands against all the right places.

He knows he shouldn’t be shy to _kiss_ Harlock when his mouth was just around his cock, but he _is_ , half-surprised the older man wants to kiss _him_ given that. He does, though, wants to kiss him _hard_ apparently, lips crushed against Yama’s and tongue exploring his mouth until Yama is light-headed. When the younger man breaks away, Harlock ducks down to bite at his jaw and neck, one hand fitting against the small of Yama’s back while the other works to free him. Yama hadn’t realized how hard he was already; funny how Harlock manages to be the whole of his attention even in this. As the captain’s fingers brush against his cock, strokes nothing but light and teasing, his hips pull him forward of their own accord. Harlock is still kissing—if such rough actions can be called that—at his neck, marks left like a brand of ownership. Yama’s fingers curl, his knees buckle, and he presses against the other man to steady himself. Then he’s pressing _too_ hard, his weight knocking Harlock off balance onto the bed and causing Yama to land on top of him.

Yama feels as if he just drank another three glasses of wine. Harlock’s breathing is more labored than Yama has ever seen it in battle, and it’s all he can do to keep what little composure has left at the sight of the captain lying beneath him like this. Harlock rises on his elbows to meet him in another kiss, and Yama is quick to return it. His hand somehow lands on Harlock’s throat, and he can feel the pulse thrum beneath his fingertips ever faster as his other hand strays lower. He lingers, wanting to push Harlock down but uncertain if a man like him would be willing to be anything but in charge.

“Can I—?” Yama tries to say, but it gets caught in his throat when his eye meets Harlock’s. The older man’s head tilts slightly as he processes the question, and Yama thinks he’s about to refuse when he opens his mouth. But then it closes and Harlock nods, motioning with his chin toward the nightstand. At the admittance, Yama practically falls over himself in his haste to retrieve the bottle of lube from one of the drawers.

He eases a finger in and is only half-surprised that it earns him the reaction that it does. While it’s far from pronounced, he can feel the automatic shiver that runs through the other man, a quaking of his thighs that presses them against Yama’s hand as if he wants him to stop. Yama shoves them back open with his free hand, lets his fingers trail in absentminded circles on Harlock’s inner thigh while he finds a slow rhythm with the other until he can add another finger. His thumb pushes against the inside curve of Harlock’s hips, holding them down when the older man starts to arch into the touch.

It’s not long before Harlock’s hand comes down to grab his wrist, not as long as he would have normally done this—but then, Harlock is far from normal. Yama glances up to see Harlock staring back at him with a cool gaze that contradicts the heat of his skin and flush of his face, and the grip on his wrist tightens enough to make the younger man pull his hand away. Harlock doesn’t say anything but hardly needs to; Yama has seen that look often enough in their time together—though never in this context—to know that it means _hurry it up_.

Yama doesn’t hesitate. The lube is cold against his skin, but he feels so feverish he hardly notices. He eases into Harlock with a groan as the older man goes tense around and under him. Friction catches on pain then morphs into pleasure, and when Harlock relaxes around him Yama can’t bring himself to look at his face. He can see it so vividly in his mind’s eye anyway, the fantasy—some dreaming, others waking—he’s had many times since first arriving here, and actually _looking_ at Harlock could either kill it or make it reality.

He’s honestly not sure which he’d prefer.

So he concentrates on the movement of his hips, eye downturned so he sees the shuddering of the muscles of Harlock’s abdomen and his fingers clutching and unclutching the sheets. Yama can gauge his reaction from that alone so he doesn’t _need_ to see how the captain looks beneath him. He shifts pace and depth, and there, _that_ makes Harlock arch off the bed, fingers dragging along the sheets until Yama puts one of his hands over top to stop it. The captain’s other hand lands on his arm for only a second before both return to grasp the sheets once more. Yama’s hand closes around Harlock’s cock instead, pulling up hard in time with his thrusts. The captain braces back; Yama snaps forward, and curiosity gets the better of him and he can’t resist looking at Harlock’s face after all.

Harlock’s eye lids as his head tilts back, pressed against the pillow with his mouth parted slightly. To anyone else, his expression might seem like one of pain or even boredom, but Yama has learned that with Harlock, the subtleties are what are important. He can hear Harlock’s breathing coming heavy and ragged, feel the flushed heat of his skin and see it on his face, a darkening around the pale scar that cuts through it. It’s the equivalent of a blush in someone less reserved, and the muffled moans the captain can’t quite hold back might as well be screams of pleasure for all they do to Yama.

Really, that’s _better_ than his fantasies.

 “Ah… Yama…” The name seems to escape Harlock’s mouth before he can chase it down to stop it. It reaches Yama’s ears, goes straight to his cock, and he leans down to kiss the older man as if his lips could soothe the burning in his blood. He feels Harlock struggle to return the kiss for a few seconds before shuddering and twisting away in favor of panting against his skin.

That gives Yama more confidence than he should really have.

“Feels good, hm?” he murmurs into the other man’s ear, closing his teeth on it to tug lightly. “ _Harlock_.” A second later he realizes he forgot to add “captain” to the name, but Harlock gives little indication that he heard Yama in the first place. Up close like this though, _Yama_ can hear each little moan that each of his thrusts brings, and that’s as good a response as any.

Even if Harlock _did_ hear his name, it doesn’t seem to have done any harm to say the least. Yama’s hand comes to rest on his chest, and he can feel a fast heartbeat at his fingers but can’t tell if it’s his or the other man’s. Harlock’s spine curves, bringing him up as Yama pulls back, and then the younger man is pushing forward again, drawing his fingers, wet and sticky now, along the cock throbbing in his palm. He feels the heartbeat quicken, thinks it’s Harlock’s now from how the breath against his skin speeds up with it. Then Harlock jerks under him, a raw moan—the only one that hasn’t been muffled or choked back—spilling from his lips as he comes hot over Yama’s fingers and his own abdomen. Yama doesn’t realize how close he is to the edge himself, but Harlock is pressing in too tight around him and Yama can only manage a few more thrusts, vision going white as pleasure overtakes him, the hand on Harlock’s chest curling into a fist and his forehead pressing against Harlock’s shoulder.

Yama allows himself a few seconds to let his head clear before pulling out and away and lying boneless on the bed beside Harlock. It seems like an eternity that they stay there in silence, the only sound their gradually slowing breaths, but Yama is fairly certain it was less than a minute before Harlock turns away from him. The older man stands and leaves, and Yama closes his eye and just listens to the sound of running water for the next several minutes. He’s a little stung by Harlock’s quick exit, but he’s not honestly sure why he thought the other man would want to stay for any longer than necessary. He mulls over the idea of leaving before Harlock returns, but his brain isn’t working at full speed, and he’s only halfway to a decision when the water shuts off and Harlock is back. The other man is remarkably steady on his feet, Yama notices when he forces his eye open again. Meanwhile, _his_ muscles ache as he sits up, and it feels as if their positions were reversed.

The captain’s nightclothes are impressively plain compared to his normal wear, just black with his insignia on them. It’s so strange to see him in something this simple that Yama can’t look away. Harlock catches him staring as he dresses and lifts a brow, and Yama looks down quickly and stands to gather his own clothes. “Sorry,” Yama mutters while Harlock tugs on his shirt. “I’ll go now.”

Yama is still staring at the floor, so he can’t tell what sort of expression the other man makes at that, but he hears footsteps then feels a warm hand squeeze his shoulder. He looks up as Harlock climbs into bed, uncertain if the gesture means what he thinks it does or not. The captain lies facing the wall, a blanket pulled up over him, but he’s closer to the wall than necessary, extra space on the pillow beneath him, and the blanket is conspicuously pulled away on the empty side of the bed.

It’s not much by way of affection, but it’s enough to tell Yama he’s welcome to stay, so he does, joining Harlock in bed. He doesn’t dare throw an arm over Harlock’s waist or kiss the back of his neck as he might with someone else, but it’s still nice to feel the other man against him, even nicer to be with Harlock when his defenses are lower than he’s ever seen them. Night will go eventually, Yama knows, and he’ll have to go with it. But right now, he’s satisfied and he’s comfortable and he’s warm, inside and out.

So for now, he’ll stay.


End file.
